On the surface, Harper Steele and I are very different. I love musical theater and bubble tea; she loves dive bars and stock car racing. She grew up in Iowa, while I’ve lived my whole life in New Jersey. I transitioned as a young person with my parents as my biggest supporters, while Harper came out at 61 navigating this journey as an adult without a guide. Yet we have two very important things in common: we are both deeply loved, and we both simply want to live our lives.
In 2017, I went viral as a ten-year-old little girl in a neon pink coat, magenta hair braided into pigtails, holding a thick poster board that read, “I’m the scary transgender person the media warned you about.” I spoke to a crowd of 200 in the streets of Jersey City that day in response to the federal administration rescinding the guidance for transgender students in schools.
Fueled by the stories of other speakers I heard that day – stories of people who were rejected from their homes, churches, and communities, stories of hate, abuse, and neglect – I started to say yes. I said yes when major news outlets reached out to talk. If it would help people understand that transgender people, just like all people, deserve safety and support, then I was ready. That “yes” led to a considerable amount of time having conversations around kitchen tables, in church pews, and in the locker room before practice about what it means to be transgender.
Now, nearly eight years later, transgender people and those that love them are scared. The right for us to live our lives – use the bathroom, access medically-necessary healthcare, and be who we know ourselves to be – is at stake. Our lives have been reduced to political platforms and fundraising campaigns. Some people who we’ve known to be our allies are wavering in their resilience to fight alongside us. Fear motivates, and people fear what they don’t understand. With a majority of Americans still saying they don’t know a transgender person, we remain a target.
“Will & Harper” shows us a way forward and comes at a crucial time in our history. It shows a way paved with empathy, humility, curiosity, and of course, love. To many, using those kinds of words in the face of hate and political attacks might seem docile or ineffective. It isn’t. The empathy and humility we see as Will and Harper make their way across the country is gritty and fierce. Sometimes progress looks like asking clunky questions, using our privilege to make things easier for others, and realizing when we’ve messed up. We don’t have to vilify those that don’t understand, but we have to be honest about the very real risks transgender people face and work to protect them from harm.
People often suggest transgender people are brave for being themselves, but I think a willingness to listen deeply to others and seek dialogue with those who are most different from us is brave, too. We may not change the opinions of each person we meet; they certainly won’t always change ours. Still I know that when we walk away from a conversation with a little more understanding of what it means for us to be human together, that has the power to change everything.
My childhood photo may have been a viral conversation-starter, but “Will & Harper” is a handbook on how to have the conversation with humor and grace. Growing up, most people didn’t fully understand my identity, but in witnessing a thriving little girl, they learned what it meant to love the person in front of them. In “Will & Harper,” audiences all over the world get to witness the people around Harper understand what it means to love the person in front of them. They get to see that the work ahead isn’t always going to be comfortable and it will probably be a little scary at times. We’re not going to have all the answers, we’re going to make some mistakes, but there can be laughter along the way.
Harper and I may have our differences, just like you and I, but it’s our shared humanity that matters most. That shared humanity is the foundation for a world where all of us can safely be ourselves.
Rebekah Bruesehoff (she/her) is a 17-year-old who is passionate about finding joy and spreading hope.
Her journey into public advocacy began at 10 years old, when a picture of her holding a sign went viral. With her cute pink pigtails, Rebekah made a bold statement that transgender people aren’t scary at all. They’re just like other people. She is the star of her very own Marvel comic book, “Mighty Rebekah,” and she is the focus of an episode of the Disney+ series Marvel’s Hero Project. She was a finalist for Time magazine and Nickelodeon’s “Kid of the Year” in 2020.
English (US) ·